by TW Iain
Brice blinked. That made so little sense. But before he could respond, data-monkey was talking again.
“You fired at that warth because you were trying to help, and they attacked. You tried to turn the bloody hold-out lights on, and totally screwed the power. Every time you try, things get worse.” He jabbed a finger at Brice, the torch swinging from his wrist. Brice felt it slam against his chest. “You’re a liability. It’s a wonder any of us are still alive with you around.”
Brice’s eyes watered from the light, but he stared at Tris, refusing to blink. Tris’ beady little eyes flickered, too close together, and Brice hated them. He hated Tris, with his cloying, sickly breath and his stupid padded muscles, and his superior attitude. He hated everything the techie stood for, everything that was wrong with the company and this job and this mission. He hated how Keelin looked up to Tris, and how everyone looked down on Brice himself. He hated this bloody forest and this storm and the way those creatures were playing with them. He hated being out here, and most of all he hated Tris.
The punch was sharp, and the impact shuddered through Brice’s arm. Tris staggered back, one hand rising to his throat as he struggled for breath. His eyes grew wide and fearful.
Brice didn’t move. His knuckles stung, and the muscles in his arm were too tight, but that all felt oh so good.
Tris gurgled, trying to speak. He coughed, doubling over, and Brice heard him pull in a ragged breath. And then he charged.
But Brice was ready. But all he had to do was side-step, and Tris’ swinging fist missed its target. The torch, following through, caught Brice squarely on the shoulder, but when he grunted it was more from shock than from pain.
And Tris was off-balance. It was easy for Brice to sweep a leg out. Tris landed with a squelch and rolled into some of the ferns.
Seeing him on the ground freed Brice’s tongue. “I’m trying to get us out of here,” he said. He took a breath and stepped back. “I’m trying. That’s all I can do.”
Tris grabbed a handful of foliage, and he breathed deeply. Mud coated his jacket, and water poured over his face. He didn’t look at Brice. Then he pulled his legs in, preparing to stand.
All Brice had to do was push, and Tris would be back in the mud. But his anger had already gone.
“I’m trying my best,” he said again, and offered his hand. It shook, and Brice wanted to believe that was the muscles in his arm, still recovering from the punch. “We need to work together.”
Tris looked at Brice’s hand as if he’d never seen it before. Then he nodded, and reached up with his own hand. It was warm, and mud oozed between their fingers, but Brice curled his grip round and pulled back, letting his weight help Tris to his feet.
Neither of them spoke. Brice could think of nothing to say. He felt the rain running down his skin, leaving trickles of coolness behind. Tris must be feeling the same. The techie’s hair hung low over his forehead, plastered to his skin. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times. Brice saw that his neck was red. When Tris gulped, he winced in pain.
And then Tris’ head jerked to one side, and he cursed loudly. He brought a hand up to his temple, and Brice saw blood. Not much, but the rain-water pulled it free.
A shape moved to his right, and Brice instinctively ducked. But the swinging branch grazed his head, pulling his neck back.
Another branch swung, but he was ready now, and he stepped to one side, sweeping an arm round to deflect the blow. His torch-light swam into the trees, and there was a hiss as a shadow backed away.
“They’re attacking us with branches?” A fern slapped towards him, and he let it hit, moisture coating his face. But then another branch slammed into his leg, and he stumbled.
Tris turned, jerking as his body took blows from the branches. But he was laughing.
“This all you got?” He yelled, swatting a branch away with his arm. Brice moved closer to him, ducking as another branch swung his way, and as a fern frond slapped against Tris’ head. He laughed. “Bloody leaves?”
That was when the rock slammed into Tris’ head.
He spun, and an arc of blood flew from his temple. He staggered, colliding with Brice and pushing them both back. Brice brought a foot round, but it slipped away, and he felt his thigh wrench as he toppled.
They fell. Tris landed on Brice, pushing the air from his lungs, and Brice’s head flew back into soft mud. Something stuck his leg, then an arm. He knew it wasn’t branched now. Each hit was like a punch, small and sharp, the pain short-lived but intense.
Brice pushed Tris away, and turned face-down as the pummelling continued. He jerked when the blows caught his spine, and brought his hands up to protect his head. Maybe he yelled out.
Something crashed, sharp and clear, and the light over his shoulder dimmed. He felt the skin on his hand dance, and pin-pricks of pain flared up.
Tris cried out, with no words Brice could make out. The man rose, arms over his head. Then he staggered, spasming as more rocks hit. His arms flailed, and he went down once more. Brice saw his body slip, gravity pulling it down the slope.
Brice pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the rocks that struck him. He launched himself forward, throwing a hand out, even as Tris slid further down the bank. He called out, and Tris looked up, his eyes glowing bright against his mud-smeared face.
The next rock slammed into Brice’s head, and he toppled forward. Tris’ terrified eyes filling his fractured vision. The light burnt Brice’s eyes, so bright it was black. Nausea rose as he fell.
But he didn’t stop moving. The ground slid away, and he couldn’t stop himself following it.
He only just thought to close his mouth before the mud engulfed him.
“You think they believe us?” Keelin asked. “I mean, about those creatures. And Cathal.”
“They have the data now.” Ryann knew she was avoiding the question.
“And you told them about the light. That’s good. And they know where we are. And that we need urgent help.”
Ryann nodded, letting Keelin babble. Her voice ricocheted between excitement and terror.
“Someone in Haven must know about those creatures. They’ve probably already got an antidote. They’re probably preparing a medi-bay right now. Don’t you think, Ryann? They’re going to make it all better. They have to.” Then, quieter, she repeated herself. But it was more of a question now. “They have to.”
Then she looked up, her eyes bright. “When do you think the boys will be back?” she asked.
“You could ask them.”
That brought a smile to Keelin’s face, although Ryann wasn’t sure it was genuine. It might have been a mask. And it frustrated Ryann that she was so unsure about this. She thought her understanding of the pilot was better than this.
Keelin jerked at Tris’ voice, but Ryann knew her smile was genuine now.
And only now did Ryann hear the hesitation, and the panic simmering beneath Tris’ words.
That sounded like he was sure of himself, but Ryann knew that was a mask. But she followed where he led the conversation.
Keelin looked worried. “You think Brice is okay?”
“He’ll be fine.”
Ryann cringed inside as she said those words. And it hurt even more when Keelin nodded in agreement. It was what Keelin wanted to
hear, but that didn’t excuse the…not lie, but the way Ryann skirted round what she really thought.
And what was that? Logically, she knew that Tris was still walking, and he’d said he knew a way back. Ryann had no reason to believe Brice was not with him. They were surrounded by light. They should be fine.
Yet Ryann was filled with dread. A part of her never expected to see them again. Hell, a part of her never expected to see Haven again.
But she couldn’t admit that to Keelin. The girl would fall apart.
The voice startled Ryann, and at first she thought it was Tris again. But this voice was female. It was deep, and sure of itself. Of course she recognised it.
But there were protocols and systems, and Arela had to follow them closer than most. Calling Ryann up like this was…not how things were done.
Ryann felt the signal Arela was using. It was tight, and she knew the chief was alone. Maybe she wasn’t even in her office, but was calling from her quarters.
That was an odd choice of words, and Ryann felt her skin chill as blood rushed to her brain. But before she could dwell on it, Arela was talking again.
That was incredibly blunt. Arela kept her tone light, but a question like that spoke of seriousness. Ryann took a moment of contemplation before responding.
she sussed, choosing her words with care. Arela was fishing for something.
Ryann could have explained how tech was a conduit for sensations. A lattice was a delivery system, not a thing in itself. And it worked so intimately with the body that it was near impossible to tell where the biological ended and the artificial began.
She could have explained all of this, but Arela had trained as a tracker. She understood this already.
That might have been a dig. Of course reports only gave the hard facts. Ryann was very careful with her words. But Arela could read between the lines.
And Ryann could do the same.
Arela didn’t respond straight away, and for a moment Ryann feared she had been too blunt. Her nerves were rising. She needed to stay calm. She needed to be friendly, not confrontational.
But Arela was still there.
Ryann heard what Arela wasn’t saying all too clearly.
Arela paused again, then sussed,
Ryann understood perfectly, although the threat hurt on a personal level. Arela had total access to Haven’s data banks, including what every individual stored through their lattice. If Ryann had been recording this conversation, Arela could wipe the recording and amend any affected records.
But she must know that Ryann would not put her in such a position. Her distrust could not be aimed at Ryann, but at anyone else who might be listening in, if that were even possible.
It wasn’t like Arela to be paranoid. Not without good reason.
she said.
Arela’s tone softened a fraction, and Ryann could picture her smiling.
There was a pause—Ryann could think of no response—and then Arela continued.
And Ryann also saw how Arela was building to something.
Ryann answered slowly, drawing the truth from deep inside, pushing emotions away.
Ryann heard the chief sigh, and when she next spoke the words were clear and slow.
Yes. But Ryann couldn’t admit that. She couldn’t accept what that meant. So she remained silent.
Ryann split her focus, and reached out, as much as she could, beyond the walls of the hold out. She used the relay, and she searched for the creatures. Of course, they surrounded her like a fog, but she pulled in her range, focusing tighter, narrowing down on an individual. And there, incredibly faintly, she felt movement, like a pulse. Yet it was slow and sluggish, and that was not the driving force here. No, there was something else, a subcutaneous flow through the whole body.
Yes, she could feel evidence of a lattice. Decayed and twisted, but still a lattice.
She paused, and Ryann imagined black-clothed operatives, or political manoeuvring.
When Arela next spoke, her voice flowed easily, and Ryann pictured her leaning back in a chair.
That was obvious, but Ryann was already leaping ahead.
Ryann’s stomach churned.
That would explain why those creatures—those failed tests—had an echo of a lattice. But it still left too many questions. The elongated limbs, the stretched jaws and the fangs and claws—these were physical changes. The lattice might help a body’s natural processes, but it couldn’t alter physiology to such an extent. The idea was…it was beyond preposterous. It was the stuff of bad horror stories, or old folk tales.
The stink from Cathal’s wound hit the back of her throat, but it no longer made her feel so nauseous. She wanted to believe that was a sign of his infection receding, but she knew the reality. She was becoming used to the stench.
